


The Fifteenth Hour

by platypus (kite)



Series: kinkmeme fic and commentfic [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Masturbation, Smut, auto-fellatio, kinkmeme fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 05:53:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kite/pseuds/platypus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But it wouldn't be like this tomorrow, without the energy and excitement of a new body singing through his veins. He'd never have quite this opportunity again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fifteenth Hour

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Doctor Who kinkmeme, sizeofthatthing.livejournal.com, in 2010.
> 
> Prompt: Eleven. Putting that flexibility to good use.
> 
> I _still_ have no idea if this is what the prompter had in mind.

The Doctor unknotted his bow tie and sagged against his bedroom door, inexpressibly grateful to be somewhere completely familiar again. His room was one of the few things in his life that didn't change much from incarnation to incarnation; that was mostly because he rarely had a flair for interior decoration, but after the upheavals of the day it was comforting nonetheless. Not that the new console room wasn't splendid—he patted a roundel reassuringly. The TARDIS had outdone herself this time. But right now, all he wanted was quiet and rest and his familiar old bed. Amy was settled in her room, confident that she could find the kitchen and the pool and everything else important; if he needed to, he could sleep for a week. Which sounded like a brilliant idea. 

He stretched—delightfully flexible, this new body—and undressed, brushing his jacket off before hanging it on the coat rack. He'd rarely made use of that in his previous regeneration. Wrinkled suits on the floor—well, that was laundry he wouldn't need to be doing now. The thought of searching the wardrobe room for pyjamas that fit was exhausting, so he slid naked between his rumpled cotton sheets. Wrapping his arms around a spare pillow, he sighed and closed his eyes. 

And opened them again moments later. Now that everything was quiet he felt strangely restless. His skin still tingled with the remnants of regeneration energy, though the golden glow had long since faded; he must be nearing the fifteenth hour after regeneration, when his new cells would finally stabilise. The lingering sensitivity wasn't exactly unpleasant, but it wasn't conducive to sleep. Rolling to his back, he discarded the pillow and wriggled against the sheets, wishing they were softer. He felt like he had goose bumps all over. His nipples were hard little points, and even though he warmed one gently with a palm, it refused to subside. He gave up and rubbed his arms lightly, trying to soothe their prickled hairs. 

Then his cock twitched, and he automatically brushed his fingers over it, not quite sure whether he was trying to calm or encourage that reaction. His cock, for its own part, seemed decidedly in favour of encouragement; it began to stir and swell, the heightened awareness of his body shifting downward with the altered flow of blood. His fingers hovered uncertainly for a moment, then closed around it, and he was rewarded with a warm throb of pleasure. At first the lengthening shaft lay heavy and limp in his hand, but a gentle kneading squeeze had it firming up nicely. He really should stop his body from making decisions without him, he reflected. Maybe tomorrow. Right now, he clearly needed to make sure everything was in working order. Besides, this might be just the thing to help him get to sleep. 

Resolved, he sat up at the edge of the bed, watching his progress as he finished stroking himself to full erection. Nothing to complain about in that department, he decided. He bent down for a better look, admiring the dark flush of the skin, the gracefully curved length of the shaft. It pulsed faintly in time with his hearts, and even his own hand felt rough on the delicate skin; he found himself wondering what it would feel like to have the wet heat of a mouth engulfing the exquisitely sensitive tip, or a soft tongue tracing the prominent vein his fingertips followed down the underside. Maybe he should look up Jack. Jack wouldn't mind giving him a demonstration, not at all. A favour for a friend. 

But it wouldn't be like this tomorrow, without the energy and excitement of a new body singing through his veins. He'd never have quite this opportunity again. 

He moistened his lips. Maybe he didn't need Jack for this.

Holding his cock carefully, thumb stroking just enough to keep it fully hard, he leaned tentatively toward it. The stretch in his back felt easy, good, so he continued slowly, managing to bend nearly double before he sensed any strain. Pausing there, he guided his cock toward his lips and extended his neck, but it was obvious that he wouldn't be able to reach. But he was so close—with a grunt of effort, he managed to flick the very tip of his tongue across his glans. His cock jerked at the sudden contact and his back spasmed and he froze, swallowing hard, trying to calm himself before he pulled a muscle. It might heal, but it would certainly force him to stop what he was doing. He concentrated on his breathing, relaxing his back fractionally more with each exhalation, until he could ease into the final stretch that put him where he needed to be. 

More careful this time, he touched his lips gently to his cock, braced for the intensity of his own reaction. The skin was warmer than he'd expected, dry and soft and faintly musky, so sensitive that the barest brush of his moist inner lip made it twitch with reaction. With a little experimentation he discovered that he could, just barely, take the head in his mouth. It was impossible to reach farther, but that would be enough— _oh_ —more than enough. His breathing was somewhat restricted in this position, but he mentally shrugged; that was what respiratory bypass was for. Right now all that mattered was the soft throb of the flesh under his tongue, the slow build of pleasure and pressure and need. As his cock grew more accustomed to the attention, he lavishly caressed it with the flat of his tongue, tasting the thin salty fluid that had begun to seep from the slit. He didn't try to hold back, just let the feelings ebb and flow as he explored, giving some strokes of his hand to the rest of his length when the urge to thrust got too intense. 

It had been a while since he'd done anything like this, but he was pleased to find he hadn't lost his touch. Although the cock had always belonged to someone else before. There was something to be said for instant feedback, he thought, sliding his tongue beneath the head and teasing precisely the perfect spot. He knew exactly when it was time to shift from licking to sucking, starting off easy but working up to the firm, steady rhythm that was just what he needed.

Everything started to fall into place, and he tightened his hand around the base of his cock, stroking in time with his sucking. As the tension rose swiftly toward climax he readied himself, keeping his head still and milking his shaft firmly. One more stroke, two, and with a great throbbing surge he was there; he would have cried out, but his mouth was abruptly too full. He swallowed and sucked and swallowed until there was nothing left, not slowing down until the final few pulses of orgasm faded. 

With a last swipe of his tongue, he let go of his softening cock and straightened, placing a careful hand on the small of his back. Muscles he hadn't noticed hurting a moment ago now ached with the echoes of strain; newly regenerated or not, he was going to pay for this in the morning. 

But he couldn't help grinning as he curled back beneath the sheets, fatigue washing through his sated body. What else might this body be capable of? As he drifted off to sleep, he vowed that he'd find out.


End file.
